


Science and Progress

by Tarlan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Episode: s01e12 The Defiant One, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-21
Updated: 2005-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:19:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the loss of Gall and Abrams, Rodney is thinking too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Science and Progress

**Author's Note:**

> My first Stargate Atlantis story. Many thanks to Beth for giving me the confidence to post this.

_I was just guessing, At numbers and figures  
Pulling your puzzles apart  
Questions of science, Science and progress  
Do not speak as loud as my heart_  
\-- **The Scientist** by Coldplay

Rodney pulled out various instruments from his pockets, running through a sequence of commands that would deactivate the shield raised around the jumper. Unfortunately, it was not a particularly difficult task, requiring the attention of only a small portion of his mind, which gave the rest of him time to think.

Too much time.

With the immediate crisis over, all the fear and panic had dissipated, leaving him clear-headed once more. As the pragmatic scientist replaced the terrified man, he knew what he had to do. The others would call him callous, insensitive, a jerk, and maybe they would be right but someone had to make the hard decisions. Abrams and Gall were dead and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Even Beckett, for all his medical voodoo, could not bring back the dead. All anyone could do was ensure they had not died in vain, and Rodney intended to do just that.

The Wraith ship was here, and it was now devoid of life. They were here and to not take advantage of that situation would be gross negligence. A thirty hour round-trip with nothing to show but two less members of the Atlantis expedition was not acceptable. In death, Abrams and Gall might be able to tell them more about their enemy; they might even be able to show them a way to defeat the Wraith.

And then there was the ship.

Ten thousand years old but, interestingly, unchanged from the one Sheppard, Ford and Teyla had been on only months earlier. Why? In ten thousand years, the Ancients had discovered Ascension and moved on. In ten thousand years, the current version of humanity went from plowing the first field to soaring into space. How could any society, any race of beings, remain stagnant for ten thousand years?

To Rodney McKay, it was inconceivable. Since the opening of the Stargate nine years earlier, technological advancement upon Earth had jumped a hundredfold with some discoveries silently benefiting the whole planet. So why were the Wraith any different? Where had they come from? Where did they get their technology from? Were they like the Goa'uld, stealing from one race after another until they had absorbed and exhausted all the technologically advanced races in the galaxy? Had they no scientists who could keep up the momentum of discovery, just as he and his fellow scientists had done on Earth?

It annoyed him, this lack of progress. This lack of evolution in their enemy. In ten thousand years, the Wraith should have become far more than they were now.

"Except they weren't around for those ten thousand years. They slept through it," he snarked softly to himself, knowing from Teyla that the Wraith woke only once every few hundred years or so. They awoke just long enough to cull their herds to give them sufficient energy to sleep again.

Now all the sleepers had awoken with a voracious appetite and with the knowledge that their formerly near-exhausted food supply was just a corner store compared to the smörgåsbord in the next galaxy. Even if they never managed to take Atlantis and gain access to the Stargate, those hive ships could keep on moving, slowly working their way across the emptiness between the galaxies as they migrated to a new and richer feeding ground. Perhaps that was why they had fallen upon worlds so relentlessly this time, taking all rather than a mere percentage of their _livestock_. Perhaps they were filling the larder for the long journey ahead.

Computations ran through Rodney's head, bringing spine chilling results as he worked out the vast distance between the Pegasus galaxy and home. He computed how long it would take the Wraith to get there, guessing at numbers and figures taken from what little he knew of the hive ships. It was not long enough. Even with the amazing amount of Ancient technology now at their disposal, it would take several more leaps of advancement to even approach the level of the Ancients at the time when they were thwarted by the Wraith and driven out of the Pegasus galaxy...and even longer to surpass them and put up a better resistance.

Earth did not have that time, so it was up to the people here to give them that time. It was up to him and Zelenka, Beckett and Grodin, and all the other scientists they had brought with them. Even Kavanagh had something to contribute, though Rodney hated to admit that. He disliked the man...disliked him intensely.

He tightened his lips, wondering why good people like Brendan and Abrams had to die when pedantic little weasels like Kavanagh managed to grease their way into the safe places. He shook his head in anger. Why Elizabeth chose Kavanagh for the expedition was beyond Rodney. The man was a menace both inside and outside of the laboratory with his over inflated ego and sense of self-worth. Rodney knew he could be accused of the same but, unlike Kavanagh, he could prove he had the abilities to match his ego, and had done so on more than one occasion.

 _Stop procrastinating_ , he thought angrily, stabbing at the device in his hand. Rodney glanced over to where John was sitting and, deliberately, he ignored the puzzlement in John's eyes. From his peripheral vision, he saw John raise both eyebrows in that slightly condescending way but they lowered quickly as his attention was caught elsewhere.

The second puddle jumper arrived just as the shield powered down, and Rodney pretended not to notice as John struggled to his feet with one arm wrapped around his ribs. John's arm dropped away as the door lowered leaving Rodney puzzling over why John would conceal his injuries. Ford and Teyla were at the bottom of the ramp in seconds, demanding to know what had happened and, for once, Rodney had nothing to say. He noticed his team mates eyeing him strangely when John mentioned Gall but, again, he said nothing, though he imagined they could see the stain of guilt on his soul.

Those odd looks turned to barely concealed contempt when Rodney spoke up finally.

"We should collect some of the bodies. Take them back to Atlantis," he stated bluntly, with as little emotion as possible, raising his chin defiantly when John frowned.

"Some of the bodies?"

"The dead Wraith we found in the corridor...and Gall and Abrams, obviously."

"Obviously," John echoed and Rodney ignored the sarcastic tone.

"We should burn the rest in the ship," added Teyla, and John nodded, recalling it was the Athosian way.

"No." Defiantly, he stuck his chin out further as Teyla's eyes widened. "Not right away. I want to check out the ship first. That is what we came here to do," he added snidely as John's eyebrows rose into his hairline.

"Two of our people are dead, McKay. Let's just pack up our dead and go home."

"No. I need to see the control room...and the hibernation chambers."

"Hibernation chambers?"

"If we can figure out what triggers hibernation, then perhaps we can put them all back to sleep again."

"Rodney...Gall and Abrams are dead, and you want to figure out what bedtime stories to read to the Wraith?"

"Gall and Abrams won't be the only dead people if we don't."

Time stretched in uncomfortable silence as John stared hard at him but Rodney refused to back down. Eventually, John was the one to back down.

"Fine."

Though Rodney could tell all was not fine with the Major and he wished he could explain the demons that were riding him; wished he could explain this need to ensure Brendan had not taken his own life for nothing. Rodney felt he owed Brendan that much. He swallowed hard, looking down at the sandy ground as John trudged up the ramp into their puddle jumper without any acknowledgment of Rodney's efforts in lowering the shield. For once, he did not feel inclined to point it out and followed in uncomfortable silence.

Within minutes, both puddle jumpers were setting down just beyond the derelict Wraith supply ship. Rodney lowered the door the moment they touched down, striding out without a word. He paused at the base of the ramp and went back, eyes meeting John's confused stare as he snagged a blanket from one of the compartments.

Going back inside the Wraith ship was an exercise in courage, something he had sorely lacked before coming to this galaxy. He found the place where he had left Gall with ease, the path etched upon his mind because of every harrowing step taken away from Gall's body earlier. As he looked down at the blood-spattered, horrifically aged corpse lying propped up against a wall, Rodney felt the sheer weight of his guilt bearing down upon him. Logically, he knew Brendan had made his own decision, choosing to end his life rather than wait for the creeping death to overtake him, but Rodney hated knowing Brendan had spent his last moments feeling like a burden.

He had placed the gun in Brendan's hand, albeit at John's command, but it was his words and actions that had stripped Brendan of any hope. He had let him see the damage caused to his body, had let him see the fear Rodney felt for John, and for himself should John fail to stop the Wraith, and he had let him hear his frustration as he paced back and forth across the small room.

Brendan was dead because of him.

Blood, skull bone, and gray matter were splattered across the wall, and with a grimace, Rodney crouched down in front of the corpse. He sensed John coming up behind him and tightened his lips, waiting to hear what John would say when he realized exactly how Brendan had died. A long silence followed before John spoke softly.

"Wasn't your fault."

Rodney hardened his heart at the words, refusing to allow them to give him any comfort. Instead, he looked up sharply. "Then whose fault was it? I don't see anyone else standing around here."

"Technically...I'm the only one standing," John drawled.

Rodney looked away in guilt, aware that he did blame John for a very small part of this, though he shouldered the majority of the blame for himself. He lied, and hoped John would not call him on it.

"I'm not blaming you," he mumbled, hoping John would leave it at that. He did not need a confrontation, and he did not need any meaningless, sympathetic noises either. Reaching out, Rodney took the gun from Brendan's out-flung hand and, without looking back, he offered it to John, feeling the weight of the gun leave his hand as John took it from him. Silently, he wished the burden of guilt could be lifted so easily.

"Wasn't your fault, Rodney," John repeated, more strongly this time.

"Repeating yourself isn't going to change the fact that I was the one you left behind to look after him...and I think we can agree that was a complete failure."

"Left behind..." The words were drawn out almost into a question.

"Don't try to psychoanalyze me, Major."

"Wouldn't dream of it, _Doctor_."

Rodney draped the blanket he had brought with him over Brendan's face and torso, knowing it would make it far easier to transport the body back to Atlantis if he did not have to look at it...at him. He stood up, only realizing that he was wringing his hands when John grabbed at them, stopping him. Rodney tore his hands out of John's grasp. He turned abruptly at the sound of approaching feet, still spooked by all that had taken place in this ten thousand year old tomb.

Ford and Markham stepped into the small space, carrying a body bag, and Rodney swallowed convulsively. He ought to have remembered that they carried body bags on-board, tucked away in one of the small compartments at the back of the puddle jumper. Morbidly, he watched as Markham knelt down beside Brendan's corpse, drawing away the blanket and flinching as he recognized the tell-tale signs of a bullet to the head. His eyes flickered towards Rodney but Rodney had no intention of offering any explanations.

"I'll...I'll go check out the control room now. Leave you to...to..." He waved his hand towards the body before turning and walking away. He could hear almost silent feet following and wished John would just let him be but the man was like a dog with a bone once he set his mind on something. He would gnaw away at Rodney until he gained the reaction he wanted. Rodney snorted softly; he did not plan to give him that satisfaction. Not this time.

Staring around the control room, Rodney swore when he saw the thickly-spun, spider-like webbing formed into a nest...a very old and well-used nest. No tubes or power lines led into it, negating any hope that this Wraith had required any technology to hibernate. As he moved from console to console, John's intense eyes were on him, burning a hole through his shoulder blades and, though John said nothing, he seemed to speak volumes with his silence. Finally, Rodney could stand it no more and he slammed down a damaged Wraith control onto an equally wrecked console. He should have known this would be beyond repair. Why else would a Wraith hang about here for ten thousand years?

"Problem?"

"Yes." Rodney rounded on John. "You."

"Me?"

"You're like a vulture...circling..." He huffed, rubbing his temples with his fingertips in the hope that it would alleviate the tension headache.

"Wasn't your fault."

Rodney looked up in anger. "Would you quit saying that."

"I'll quit saying it when you start believing it."

Rodney sank down against the console, drawing his knees up to his chest, his mind reliving those final moments of Brendan's life...

**--**

The sound of the single gunshot echoed around the small chamber and, for one crazy moment, he wondered if Brendan had finally had enough of his neuroses and had shot him, but he felt nothing. No pain, just the sudden realization that he could no longer hear Brendan's slight wheezy gasps filling the room. Moments ago, he had been fretting over the worst that could have happened to John as he faced this particular Wraith but now his mind was empty of all but a single horrifying thought. That single gunshot had brought his worried diatribe to an abrupt end.

He had not wanted to turn but he had needed to know. As his stunned mind took in the blood and gore, shock gave way to an all-consuming guilt...

**--**

"I was worried about you." Rodney stated in a matter-of-fact voice without looking up from where he sat. "What is it you said? If we play the waiting game, the guy that's been here ten thousand years is going to win." Rodney barked out a laugh that held no joy. "He kept telling me to go. To leave him. And I wanted to...but I wouldn't. I couldn't leave him like that."

Rodney felt the burn of tears but he was not going to cry. He had not cried when the bullies set on him each day after school, and he had not cried when Kolya's man sliced into his arm, so he was not going to cry now. Giving in to the bullies had saved him from far worse pain and humiliation at the time--even death--plus he had always been smart enough to figure out a way to get even, eventually. Yet, this was not the same thing. These were not the threatened tears of pain, of fear. This was frustration, and anger. Anger at himself, anger at John for putting him in that position...and anger at Brendan.

"He saved my life." John said softly.

"What?" Rodney looked up in confused shock.

"He was dying. Maybe he would have lingered on another hour or two...but if he had then I'd have been dead by then, and the Wraith would have come back for you." John sank down next to Rodney with a soft grunt of pain. "When you got there, I was out of bullets and shit out of luck...or so I thought."

Rodney stared at John's face in the gloom of the Wraith ship, noticing shadows where there ought to be none. Bruises, he realized, recalling how the Wraith had struck John so hard he flew through the air several feet. Then Rodney recalled that John had been sprawled out on the sand when he arrived, with the Wraith slowly advancing on him, his intention to suck the life out of John very clear.

"Your face is swelling on one side."

"No shit." John looked around the dimly lit control center. "Why are we here?"

"I was hoping there might be something...anything..." He glanced around the derelict control room in anger.

"Yeah, suppose it's like the old saying...when life gives you lemons--"

"Yes, yes...but as I'm citrus intolerant, making lemonade would do me a fat lot of good."

John looked back with a soft smile and Rodney saw understanding in his eyes, his sudden irritation falling away. He had wanted Gall and Abram's deaths to have some meaning but if this ship had any secrets left to tell then Rodney could spend a lifetime trying to uncover them. All around him was decay. The computers, the consoles...none of it would ever work again no matter how much energy he put into it.

John hissed as he climbed back to his feet. He unclipped his reloaded P90 and sent a spray of bullets into the only mechanism showing any sign of life, silencing the distress beacon forever.

"Let's go home and bury our dead."

Rodney swallowed, and nodded his head. He climbed to his feet, brushing the millennia of sand and dust from his pants before following on behind John.

**--**

Although he had not felt like company, Rodney was grateful when Teyla elected to journey with them, leaving room in Ford's puddle jumper for the bodies. The mere thought of spending the next fifteen hours staring at Brendan's body bag was too harrowing to contemplate. He had a feeling John knew this, or maybe John had his own ghosts riding his tail. After all, he had left him and Gall behind in the Wraith ship, alone and vulnerable.

How many hours had he paced back and forth in that small chamber, jumping at every creak of the desolate ship? How many hours had he sat by Brendan's side, trying to rub feeling back into limbs stripped of youth and vitality? Even Brendan's gentle ribbing had felt like barbs into his soul as he stared into prematurely aged flesh.

Was Brendan right? Had he changed? If Zelenka was to be believed then he was still an obnoxious little man, though he had the strangest feeling that this was now a gesture more of affection than rancor with the Czech scientist.

He thought of Gall and Abrams.

How many did that make now? How many of his people had he lost since arriving on Atlantis? He frowned, trying to recall all the faces and names of the living so he could picture the dead but he had never been a people person. Being a genius did not mean having a photographic memory and some things he simply chose not to recall...like Zelenka's name, at least until Zelenka backed him into a corner in the lab one day and stated his name over and over until Rodney had memorized it. Others, Rodney would cheerfully forget...like Kavanagh, whose petty, egocentric complaints took up more of his time than the rest of the science team put together.

Rodney's guilt swelled as he tried to take back the wish that it had been Kavanagh instead of Gall lying in that body bag, with his brains splattered across an alien ship. He grimaced.

"Are you all right, Dr. McKay?"

"What? Oh...yes...yes, I'm fine." Rodney tried to raise the semblance of a smile for Teyla before looking across at John who, despite his earlier offer to let Rodney pilot them home, was sitting in the pilot's seat. "Didn't you mention cracked ribs? Shouldn't they be bound...or something."

"Cracked ribs?" Echoed Teyla with concern in her voice. "Perhaps you will let me see to your injuries, Major."

"An exaggeration...just bruises."

"Then perhaps you will let me be the judge of that," Teyla smiled warmly but the glint in her eye stopped any protestations. She had been a leader of her people long before they met her, and a formidable warrior who could best even John, despite his skill in unarmed combat.

Rodney slid into the pilot's seat and felt a flicker of pleasure carve into his guilt at John's taunting whisper.

"You'll pay for that, McKay." Louder, he stated dryly. "At least try to keep us flying in a straight line this time."

Rodney resisted the urge to say, _yes, mother_ , and focused instead on the puddle jumper flying on their right wing. He let Markham take the lead, happy enough to simply follow for a change. Behind him, he could hear whispering and wondered if they were talking about John's injuries, or about him. Certainly, Teyla had been eyeing him carefully over the past few hours, a heavy frown marring her beautiful face.

A short while later, John slid into the co-pilot seat and smirked. "See...just bruises."

"Well, it could have been worse. If a rib punctured your lung you'd have drowned in your own blood long before we got back to Atlantis."

"Well, there's a happy thought," he murmured though Rodney recognized the sarcasm in John's voice. "You know, Rodney. Not everything's doom and gloom all the time."

Rodney turned in his seat.

"Yes, well, when you find one of those times just let me know so I can bask in the serenity of the moment...infinitesimal though it might be."

"Rodney? Markham went that away," John pointed back through the view screen and Rodney pulled on the controls to get back behind him. "Not so hard! Ease up a little....and don't get so close."

"Back seat driver," Rodney mumbled, earning a glare from John.

"That does it. I'm taking over again. Move."

Rodney relinquished the pilot's seat with an outward show of annoyance though, inwardly, he was relieved. Piloting the puddle jumper through this empty part of the system did not command all of his attention. He knew his laptop was stowed away in one of the compartments untouched by the Wraith, so he could immerse his mind in one of the problems facing Atlantis rather than continue reliving this past day over and over in his head.

At some point during the trip back to Atlantis, Rodney slept but his dreams were full of dark places and soul-sucking Wraiths, except this time it was John rather than Brendan lying aged and dying before him. With mute horror, he watched as John raised the gun to his temple. He tried to reach John but the air seemed as thick as molasses, dragging at his limbs, leaving him helpless as the shot resounded through his head.

Rodney awoke with a start, eyes darting around the puddle jumper until they fell on John's tired form still seated at the controls. John was half-turned towards him, his eyes narrowed in concern.

"Are you alright, Dr. McKay?"

For once, Rodney had no pithy comment spring to mind. Seeing John alive, if not the worse for wear, had stripped him of any irritation at Teyla's seemingly inane question. Of course he was not 'okay' but he felt better for knowing it had been but a dream, and that both he and John had survived the encounter with the superwraith, as John had dubbed him.

He nodded to Teyla. She did not seem particularly convinced but said nothing. Instead, she looked at John's slouched back, her dark eyes indicating towards the controls. Rodney got the hint straight away, for once, and he moved forward.

"You should rest. I'll take over for a while."

"I'll warn Markham," John stated dryly.

"Oh, that's hysterical. Perhaps you missed your true calling on the Vaudeville Stage...or not."

John gave him that familiar tight smile as he relinquished the controls and Rodney felt fresh guilt when John made no other response. He had never seen the man looking so battered and fatigued before. Covertly, he watched as John settled down onto one of the benches that doubled as a bunk before turning his attention back to the rear of Markham's jumper as Markham led them home.

**--**

 **Six Days Later:**

Rodney startled as someone slid into the seat opposite him. At this time of night the mess hall was normally empty as even the most obsessed of the scientists had stumbled away to their beds by now, leaving the laboratories clear and only a skeleton crew on gate duty. Of course, Rodney had seen this early hour far too often in his life, and too frequently since arriving in the Pegasus galaxy. Usually, an ancient device held his attention for far too long, and he frowned as he recalled how many times John had come into the laboratory in the early hours to hassle him until he gave in and went to get some sleep. However, he could not blame his current bout of insomnia on his experiments even though he had tried to bury himself in work since getting back.

"Burning the midnight oil again, Rodney?" John asked in that softly smiling, nonchalant way that managed to disarm most people.

"Not intentionally." He snapped back, almost hating the easy way John could manipulate people. _Okay...could manipulate me,_ he thought with disdain.

John did not seem to notice the sharp response. Instead, he blew on the hot coffee he had brought over with him. Taking a sip from his own coffee, Rodney grimaced. He thought he had only been here a short while but his coffee was stone cold, and disgusting. Rodney glanced across towards the microwave and considered zapping it back up to full heat, momentarily distracted.

"Can't sleep?"

"What?"

He glanced back at John. As usual, a scathing comment came to mind and he almost asked if John was competing for what Grodin called the MOTBO title, Master of the Bleeding Obvious, an honor currently held by Kavanagh. After all, if he could sleep then he would not be sitting here at four in the morning with a mug of stone-cold coffee in front of him. However, Rodney noticed the dark circles under shadowing John's eyes, reminding him of Brendan's weary look during those last few hours and that memory sparked others.

He had not meant to be so short tempered with Brendan, telling the dying man to, basically, shut up, and that guilt was still eating at him, working its poison into his dreams. With a grimace of distaste, Rodney took another sip of the cold coffee.

"Sleeping isn't the problem. Staying asleep is."

"Yeah, I get nights like that."

"You do?"

John nodded wearily and took a sip of his coffee, leaving Rodney to wonder if this was one of those nights. That thought was quickly forgotten when John's lips tightened in pain, and then he gasped, sucking in cold air to cool the burning in his mouth.

"One minute 23 seconds at full power." He gave Rodney a confused look. "Anything longer superheats the coffee to scalding hot."

"You know the exact length of time it takes to heat up coffee?" John tilted his head in bemusement. "Don't tell me, it was part of some laboratory experiment, or did you just sit down and do the math in your head..."

"Well, it wouldn't be that hard to calculate." Rodney snapped back irritably, but then he sighed in remorse. He was tired, which made him even more cranky than usual, but his current state of mind did not seem conducive to restful sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Brendan's frightened, weary face, and then the dreams would come, and it was the same every night.

Normally, Rodney could not care less about anyone's feelings, especially John who seemed to let the snarky remarks slide right off him without more than the occasional ruffled feather but, tonight, with the dream still hovering at the dark edges of his mind, he did care. Rodney offered a small confession as a token apology.

"I worked it out by trial and error."

"You did?" John grinned, the smile lighting up his face and putting a sparkle back into his eyes, leaving Rodney to wonder why the idea of him taking such inexact measures should please John so much. Still, if his admission brought such a pretty smile to John's face then maybe it was worth a little ridicule.

Pretty?

Rodney glanced back at his cold coffee, feeling acutely embarrassed at having such a thought. John fidgeted in his seat and when Rodney looked back up, he noticed the smile had faded and a speculative look had come over John's face.

"Serious, Rodney. Why are you still up?"

Part of him wanted to blurt out about the dream...of seeing John in the derelict Wraith ship, horrifically aged and with his brains splattered across the wall. He would bolt upright in his bed shouting John's name, finding the sweat soaked sheets bundled around his knees. Then would come the relief that Brendan and not John had been 'culled' by the superwraith, followed swiftly by remorse and guilt for Brendan.

Kate Heightmeyer had collared him soon after their return to Atlantis and had tried to counsel him but, in truth, he could only tell her about Brendan and the gunshot that still echoed in his head. He could not tell her about the dreams of John.

She called it survivor's guilt, mixed with an unhealthy dose of anxiety. Rodney was not surprised.

Despite being privy to all the top level documents detailing the many times the Earth had come under attack from the Goa'uld, Rodney had never felt unduly worried while working on the Stargate project. The only time he had been in any real danger was during the attack by Anubis, where the half-ascended Goa'uld had tried to destroy the Earth by overloading the Stargate. The incident had been traumatic at the time but swiftly forgotten afterwards as his world reverted back to some semblance of normality.

Since stepping through the Stargate into the Pegasus galaxy, normality had twisted in on itself until fear was the norm and feeling safe was a long forgotten memory.

How did Samantha Carter cope with the enormity of it all? How did she manage to keep on pulling rabbits out of a hat, year after year, and still retain her sanity? He wished he could ask her. Wished he could ask if she sometimes sat in a dark corner of her laboratory feeling terrified for the day when she could not save herself, her friends, her loved ones...or their world. Then he recalled that she had met her Kobayashi Maru, her no-win scenario, on the day she took a dying girl to the bottom of a silo, unable to save her and unwilling to leave her to die alone. As it was, Cassandra had lived. They discovered that her nearness to the Stargate had triggered the almost cataclysmic overload of the Naquadah in her body but that did not detract from the fact that Sam Carter had faced her own imminent death that day.

To Rodney, sometimes it seemed as if every day spent in this galaxy was his own personal Kobayashi Maru, only managing to dodge the terrifying, seemingly inevitable end by sheer fluke. Wraiths and Genii, death by exposure to the cold vacuum of space...life-sucking darkness and consciousness-tampering mist-shrouded life forms. What else lay beyond the Stargate, waiting for him and the people he had started to care about...perhaps even to love?

During each crisis, the panic would take a grip of him as he looked around a room at the hope-filled faces, feeling the weight of their expectations lying heavily on his shoulders as they waited for him to save them all. So far he had beaten the odds, time and again, but he was as much a mathematician as an astrophysicist. He could see all the permutations, could work out all the factors and calculate the increasing probability of error creeping into any equation. Simplified, it was almost like flipping a coin. Heads, we live, and tails it all goes to hell. Except, by the law of averages, the more times you flipped the coin and got heads, the more likely the next time would come up tails.

The last mission had come up tails for Gall and Abrams.

"How do you live with the deaths?" Rodney felt the ripple of shock flow right through him. He had not meant to ask that aloud. Even he was not that insensitive...was he?

Unbeknown to anyone, Rodney had looked up John's file soon after Elizabeth decided she needed the Major on the Atlantis expedition. For someone with his skills, hacking into those files was child's play. What those files revealed was someone who had witnessed more death and destruction that Rodney thought possible, someone who had lost good friends and comrades in battle. Yet, John seemed comparably sane despite all the trauma, despite making choices such as killing his own commanding officer rather than leave him to suffer at the hands of the Wraith.

"You didn't kill Gall. It wasn't your fault."

"I put the gun in his hand and gave him every reason to turn it on himself." He shook his head. "Just didn't think..." he trailed off.

"That's not your problem, Rodney. You think too much." Rodney looked up in hurt shock. "Brain the size of a planet and with about as much tact as using a cruise missile against a mosquito." This time, John sighed and slumped back in his seat, closing his eyes and running a hand through his bed-hair. "And I wouldn't change any of you."

He opened his eyes and seemed to pin Rodney to his seat by the sheer force of his will.

"Gall was no fool. He knew superwraith had left him alive for a reason, to split us up. He knew things weren't going so well for me and he knew...he *knew* if I didn't make it, you'd be next on superwraith's menu."

Rodney swallowed hard. Brendan had said as much as he lay on the ground with what was left of his life-force slowly draining away. John leaned forward and placed his hand over Rodney's pair, making him realize that he was wringing them again. Dipping his head, John looked up at Rodney through dark eye lashes, his hazel green eyes intently focused.

"Gall knew he was dying...but he knew no matter how much you whined and paced around the room, you'd never leave him." His mouth twisted with self-condemnation. "And me being the big hero, arrogantly assuming I could defeat a ten thousand-year-old psycho Wraith all by myself. I'd never tell you to leave him."

Lowering his eyes, almost as if he was ashamed, John continued. "Less than a minute. That's all I had left when you showed up." He snorted softly. "Only consolation was Ford and the others were barely fifteen minutes away, so I might not have killed us both." John looked up again with more pain in his eyes than Rodney had ever seen there before. His voice became a whisper. "He taunted me during those last hours. Told me how he planned to use my dead hands to pilot the jumper, fly back to his ship, and grab that tasty snack he'd left with the one he'd already mostly drained." John's eyes held immeasurable horror. "A snack for the journey home, he said."

John leaned back, his voice regaining its strength.

"You wanna know why I'm not asleep? Because every time I close my eyes, I see you in the back of the puddlejumper cocooned in that stuff, with Superwraith slowly sucking the life out of you. And it's all my fault." He gave a joyless laugh and pushed up from the table, leaving Rodney still in shock at the admission.

John had managed half a dozen steps before Rodney found his voice, his chair scraping back harshly as he stood up too. "John!"

John stopped but did not turn back.

"I dream it's you instead of Brendan."

Turning slowly, Rodney was surprised to see a gentle smile curving John's lips, and a flicker of something else in his eyes that passed too quickly for Rodney to figure out.

"I'll walk you back to your room."

Rodney nodded once, leaving the cold coffee on the table where, now doubt, Kavanagh would find it and complain heartily about people who did not clear up after them. Just another complaint to add to the growing list that resided on the weasel's laptop, simply waiting for an opportunity to be passed back to General O'Neill.

When they reached his room, Rodney paused outside, too caught up in other thoughts to notice he had commanded the door to open unconsciously, and with an ease that had escaped him until now. As he stared through the open doorway, he wondered if John's was right. Maybe he did tend to over-think every situation rather than let some things come naturally.

John hovered on the threshold and Rodney had an urge to invite him in for coffee, except he did not have any means of making it in his room. It felt like one of those awkward end of first date moments. Rodney felt a bubble of hysteria creep up through him at even having such a thought.

"Well, Major..." He started to say but, instead of a perfunctory goodnight, John's expression changed as if finally reaching a decision. He stepped into the room and mentally commanded the door to close behind him. Rodney heard the equivalent of a lock snick tight but any confusion was swept away as John pulled him into his arms and kissed him hard. Stunned, Rodney offered no resistance to the tongue that pushed between his parted lips, deepening the kiss. A hand caught behind his head, fingers carving through his hair, holding him firmly in place while John's other hand stroked down Rodney's back. He could feel the warmth of that hand through his t-shirt, finally coming to his senses as the fingers slipped beneath the hem to brush across bare flesh.

Rodney pulled free and stumbled back, all breath and sense stolen from him. John reached out to him again and Rodney allowed the fingers to touch his face, and to brush over his now sensitive, tingling lips. John's mouth twitched in one corner as he began to pull back his hand, regret filling desire-darkened eyes.

"No."

Rodney grabbed at the receding fingers, drawing them back...drawing John back. This was so new, so unexpected, and more frightening than the step he had taken through the Stargate to this place but he could not stem the flood of need pouring through him. He had never wanted, never even considered the possibility of wanting another man's touch but then, this was not just another man. This was John. His John.

Pliant lips pressed against his once more, and this time Rodney moved against them in turn, leaning into the firm body, his hands wrapping around John's torso, fumbling beneath cotton to splay against warm flesh. He stopped thinking about the right and wrong of what they were doing and let the need consume him. Clothes were discarded carelessly and then they were falling onto the bed sideways, lying face-to-face, with limbs entwined, and hardness trapped between their close-pressed bodies, rocking frantically against each other.

Rodney gasped into the mouth covering his as the first sensations rippled through him, whimpering as one more thrust sent his senses spinning and his innards melting. Pleasure swept over him, washing away all reasoning and all thought. From light years beyond his own body, he registered a flood of renewed heat against his skin as the bruising grip of John's hands tightened around him. An exhaled gasp from John forced air into his starving lungs as the tensed frame became as boneless as his.

Only the harsh sound of their breathing filled the silence of the room and Rodney opened his eyes as he felt the featherlight touch of fingers brushing over his hip and easing between their bodies. The light touch tickled his stomach, making him squirm and exhale sharply.

"Ticklish?"

When he looked up into John's eyes, he saw devilment lurking there but beneath the mischievousness lay peace and satisfaction. Rodney gave John a crooked smile and leaned in to kiss him once more, sucking carefully on the swollen lips before gently plundering the hot mouth. John moaned his appreciation but pulled back all too soon. His fingers raked between their bellies again, and they both grimaced at the rapidly cooling stickiness of spent semen.

Only then did the shocked realization of what they had just done together sweep through Rodney but, before he could pull back, John's hand was gripping one of his arms tightly. Rodney looked back into sated green/gold eyes and found no regret or fear or embarrassment lingering there. Instead, John gave him a crooked smile.

"How about we shower, strip the bed and then get back in and sleep."

"Together?"

"Yes...together."

"Shower's not big enough for two."

"Then you go shower while I start stripping the bed...and then I'll go shower while you finish making it."

Within fifteen minutes, they were lying side by side in the less than generously-sized bed, staring up at the ceiling in the darkened room. His body still tingled from John's touch and he could feel the heat radiating off of the strong body lying beside him. Part of him felt embarrassed and uncertain; unsure what was required of him in this post-coital situation. He had a hard enough time trying to figure out what to do or say on the rare occasions when he managed to convince some willing woman to go to bed with him. What should he say to John? What should he do now?

Yet, even as he worried about this, his thoughts turned, once more, to the derelict Wraith transport with its cargo of ancient, mummified human remains. That silent tomb might well have become his own, though John's words had begged to differ. Instead, he imagined being wrapped in that strange cocoon, lying paralyzed in the back of the jumper, with his chest on fire as the Wraith stole away his life slowly, minute by minute.

New thoughts crowded in.

The Wraith had not evolved in ten thousand years, and Rodney realized that they simply had not needed to. They were already a terrifying presence in this galaxy and, unless science progressed far enough to stop them, they would be a terrifying presence in his galaxy too...some day soon. He shivered as he thought of the consequences, of seeing all the glowing worlds within Earth's galaxy turn red with the spread of the Wraith.

His eyes flicked towards John, barely able to see him in the darkness. Suddenly, Rodney knew what he wanted to do but it seemed too needy to crawl into John's arms seeking the comfort he so desperately desired. He wanted to lay his head upon John's chest and listen to the steady and comforting beat of his heart, hoping that might lull him back into the sense of security that he had lost upon stepping into this galaxy.

A soft drawl interrupted his growing anxiety. "Rodney, you're thinking too much again."

He felt John shift and raise the arm closest to him, making room for Rodney to press in closer. With a gentle sigh, Rodney stopped thinking and rolled into John's arms, leaving his arm to drape over the furred torso. He closed his eyes as exhaustion finally overwhelmed him, his limbs too heavy to protest the arms that wrapped around him too snugly in return.

As sleep slowly overtook him, he wondered if either of them would dream.

THE END

~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Science and Progress](https://archiveofourown.org/works/226656) by [Tarlan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan)




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